Trump told more than 2,000 lies in the past year. And so did I.

President Donald Trump speaks during a press conference with Norway's Prime Minister Erna Solberg (not pictured) in the East Room of the White House in Washington, D.C., on Jan. 10, 2018.

President Donald Trump speaks during a press conference with Norway's Prime Minister Erna Solberg (not pictured) in the East Room of the White House in Washington, D.C., on Jan. 10, 2018. (Jim Watson / AFP/Getty Images)

Stephen J. Lyons

Last year I resolved to do something I almost never do. I lied. A lot.

It all began when I informed President Donald Trump via Twitter that he finished 46,789th in a recent poll for most admired man in the United States. (He actually finished second behind Barack Obama.) I received no reply from our president, and as I write this, I have yet to be blocked by him or visited by the FBI. So I might have actually deceived him, but more likely he was busy golfing. Again.

The lie came so easily that I continued my journey in verbal larceny with a few white lies told to strangers in coffee shops and to seatmates on international flights (Do you know I am 6-foot-3, 170ish pounds?). I then moved on to half-truths (I can dunk a basketball) before graduating to full-blown falsehoods (I once dunked on LeBron James. He cried like a baby.)

Honestly — or not — I admit lying at first felt kind of lousy, even on social media, and especially to the leader of the free world, who has honed truth-shading into an art form. As of Jan. 10 of the this new year, President Trump has made 2,001 false or misleading claims, or an average of 5.6 per day, according to The Washington Post. Indeed, is there a better role model for my new path toward dishonesty than President Trump? Turned out the birther thing was pure genius. Who knew?

My parents and stepparents did not raise a liar, but after tossing my two-faced whoppers around without any consequences, the feelings of guilt and shame turned into liberation and empowerment. Truth be told — and why tell it? — nonfiction is so passe. Fiction is now all the rage. The president gets it. Breitbart, Fox News and Sarah Huckabee Sanders see no downside. Nor do memoirists.

My newfound proclivity for lying has uncovered a fount of creativity I did not know I possessed. I boasted to friends that I had read “Moby Dick” five times, but only once in English. Yes, the Uzbek translation was a bit of a challenge, but not as daunting as the Arabic version. Took three hours out of my busy day.

At my annual physical I boldly told my doctor that I only got up once a night to use the bathroom when actually I trudge to the toilet around three times on average, and less frequently, interestingly enough, if I’ve been drinking. I also told her I rarely take the Xanax I begged her to prescribe to me, but yes, I do need a refill. Maybe two refills. Just in case, you know.

My visit to the dentist was more problematic. My defensive, “Yes, of course I floss twice a day!” was met with raised eyebrows by the hygienist, who then scraped away at my teeth a bit too aggressively. But I stuck to my guns, and she really stuck it to my gums.

To my long-suffering counselor, I said I have long forgotten about my ex-wife and hold no grudges toward her for ruining this life and my next two lives forever. Yes, I said, with confidence, clutching Kleenex for effect, four years have gone by since her name crossed over the threshold of my memory. Of course, during the entire session I was lying. I was, in fact (or in fiction), doing an internal happy dance because just that morning I had learned my ex had lost all her teeth.

This move to mendaciousness has changed my life for the better. My moral boundaries have been replaced with borderless frontiers of dishonesty. I no longer flinch when I fib, nor do I even look the least bit conflicted, unlike, for example, U.S. Rep. Devin Nunes. I can just straight-out lie with the best of them without crossing my fingers behind my back, or biting my lower lip. (Hello, Bill Clinton!) No tongue in cheek for me.

As George Costanza famously said, “It’s not a lie if you believe it.” And believe me, I believe me. I can actually recall LeBron’s incredulous expression when I poster-ized him on that dunk. He was, like, holy moly, this 62-year-old white male with thick hipster glasses and wild eyebrows has some kind of hops! And if you ask me a follow-up to my before-mentioned literary achievements, I will calmly say that “Moby Dick” does not translate well into Arabic. I mean, “Call me Ahmed, Ahmed is my name”? Completely ruins it for me.

The surprising thing is that no one ever calls me out on my fabrications. There are no fact-checkers or Pinocchios awarded for freelance liars like me. No tape or tweets exist to cause embarrassment. No surrogates contradict me. I’m flying and lying under the radar.

I admit I am not quite yet in the president’s league for articulating alternate facts, but this was my full first year of yarns, while the president has been perfecting his skills for decades. He really is the best liar we have had in the entire panoply of liars. And that’s the truth. Just ask him.

Stephen J. Lyons is the author of four books of essays and journalism. His most recent book is "Going Driftless: Life Lessons from the Heartland for Unraveling Times."